The Ones Who Stay and the Ones Who Leave
by operaghostspooks
Summary: There are potions and spells for many things, but none for that. One Shot.


**A/N: I haven't been updating for my other story, so I should be flayed alive for even posting this but I couldn't help it. I love this show and adore this pairing, what can I say?**

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><p>The castle is not enchanted, but cursed.<p>

Before the break, the fall, the spell that cast a dark shadow over everyone in the fairy kingdoms and robbed them of their memories, the castle had a name. Its silver spoons could twirl beneath the moonlight and the summer fruit of its gardens bloomed and died by morning nightfall, yet tasted as sweet as sugar spun dolls when the sun was highest in the sky.

Here, in this barren land without magic, nothing grew in the gardens. The spoons sat in their kitchen drawer, the cloth that lay upon beds did not weave itself, and the chandelier did not whisper its secrets to the unknowing passersby. Like its owner, the castle did not speak anymore.

Mr. Gold's dragging footsteps sounded throughout the halls as he heaved himself up the porch steps. He hobbled towards the door, his worn fingers trembling, fumbling awkwardly with the keys. A turn, a click, a push and he stepped inside.

The castle sighed contentedly, settling and creaking at the return of its owner.

Then, as imperceptible as the smell of mothballs that lingered in every room, a foot, as delicate as a rose petal noiselessly pressed itself upon the porch.

The walls leaned in, puzzled. The person was young, no older than twenty years of age, and yet her bones creaked like Mr. Gold's did on the days when his cane could barely hold him upright. Her dress was yellow like her cracked nails and tired eyes, scraping the wrinkled skin of her knees. Her toes, dirty and unwashed, drew absentminded circles in the wood.

She shifted from side to side, picking at the loose thread of her sleeve. The castle waited, wondered if the stranger would come inside.

Mr. Gold waited too, his knuckles protruding from his hands as he gripped his cane. Though he must've known her presence, Mr. Gold didn't turn around or acknowledge her. Slowly, the girl drifted inside, sedate, not even a breath escaping her lips. Was she dead too, like the castle? Like its master?

Mr. Gold limped about the empty corridors, performing his daily routine without a single deviation. The only difference was the girl who lingered behind him at a distance, thoughtful and tentative.

Not one word was exchanged and the castle was as silent as a grave for the next two days.

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><p>On the third night of the impromptu guest's visit, Gold sat in front of his wheel, one of his favorite things to do when he was irritated. He turned the wheel gently. It squeaked, he bobbed his foot up and down impatiently. The girl remained as noiseless as ever.<p>

"You know, I'm supposed to wait three days before I can see you again."

Mr. Gold's voice ached and creaked, just like his bones.

"Regina promised me you would return, if I could just wait three days and three nights. Until then, I'm not even allowed a glimpse. Not a peep." He chuckled, and the castle could taste the familiar acridness that radiated from him.

"You mustn't be angry, with me, dearie. It is all part of a deal. Contractual agreements and all that."

A pause, and then a imperceptible whisper.

"Will you wait for me?"

The girl is like mist, reaching out her tendril arms and resting them in the space right above his shoulders.

He snorted derisively, resting his lame leg against the pedal of the spinning wheel. "I stole you from your father, and now I've stolen you from the grave. Of course you will wait. That is the true love you spoke of, right?"

She stroked his hair, but he could not feel her. She traced the curved knobs of his spine, but he did not respond.

"Belle," he whispered and the name echoed of a time when the chandeliers in the ballroom could sing. Of a place that was not cursed, but enchanted. There was no answer.

"Are you even there?" he asked angrily, grabbing his cane and pulling himself to his feet. "Will you not answer me? Or is this some cruel joke that Regina has orchestrated in order to seek her revenge upon me?"

She presses a finger to her mouth as if trying to silence him, trying to stifle their agony, but the action is superfluous. The castle already knows what is coming.

He turned slowly, rotating on his axis, his free hand held out like a blind man. And when the hand met flesh, cold and dead flesh, he dropped the cane and brought both together was if in prayer, holding her face against his palms. His thumbs wiped at the falling tears, stroked the downy hair at her temples.

She leaned in and pressed her lips against his in mourning. It tasted like the breeze from the gardens and the sugar of the dancing cutlery of a far off land. And yet, Mr. Gold could not feel a change, could not feel the spell breaking. He opened his eyes.

Regina never intended it to be a reunion, but a funeral. How could you bring back what had died centuries ago anyhow? Mr. Gold knew this, he knew the moment he made the deal that it would be futile but he'd still dared to hope. There were spells and potions for lust, for hope, for justice, but none for that.

When she disappeared, the castle shook with his rage, bled with the howls of his sorrows. But it wasn't long before it settled back comfortably into its chilled stone walls without much concern. There was no place for magic in here, and things had returned to the way it was before.

The castle was not enchanted and its master was dead.


End file.
